Becky's Escape
by englishmajorrebound
Summary: Becky's marriage has taken a turn for the worse. What will a frustrated Rebecca do?


Done. Becky snatched tired-looking clothes from her crumpled closet with such vigor that her fingernails snagged on her polyester-blend suits in protest. What looked crisp and polished on camera looked garish in the dim light of her home. The act of dismantling her wardrobe filled her with rage. This damn closet. It had been built into an attic, so the wooden slatted ceiling sloped down towards her. Continually bumping her head while she energetically grabbed at clothes seemed to fill Rebecca with a sense of righteousness.

Of course she was leaving. Becky caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the leopard-print covered bed. Her marriage bed of seven years. Even with her cheeks flushed and her hair thrown haphazardly into a ponytail that was now falling, she was beautiful. She knew she was beautiful. Beautiful and trapped. Like a fairytale. Except, instead of the Greek prince saving the lovely maiden from the tower, he had shoved her into it.

Rebecca had vague memories of being a newlywed, when her handsomely pretty husband moved into her gorgeous two-bedroom apartment. It had leather bound books and glass vases and white wine in the fridge. After three nights of her new husband cuddling a stuffed pig while tears streamed silently down his cheeks, Becky made what she thought was a gracious decision – they would move back into the hostel that was her brother-in-law's house. A house that kept being built onto as if it were a British wizarding home that housed an army of redheads. The basement had been converted from the comedian's lair to a music studio. The bedrooms all hosted a circulating cast of her nieces and their boyfriends and husbands and children. And the attic. The attic that had been refurbished to be her home. Young Rebecca remembered feeling so grateful that her new husband valued family so much. This Rebecca could only see what she had given up with her generous offer. An offer that had been made with the promise that living rent-free in this community-style house would allow them to save money to eventually move. The attic in which she had come home from the hospital with her blonde-haired twin boys. Every time Becky looked into those babies' faces, all she could see was her one night of infidelity with the producer of _Wake Up, San Francisco_.

Rebecca remembered the foolishness with which she had jumped into bed with another man. Jesse had forgotten about their one-year anniversary, leaving her sitting at a restaurant waiting while he played to a dozen screaming teenagers at her niece's high school prom. Mark had been so kind and understanding. She had gone home with him in the hopes of finding comfort in a friend and ended up with two lifetime reminders of that one foolish night.

The sacrifices that Rebecca had made for her husband left her feeling justified in her one act of indiscretion. In no way did she think it was right that she had cheated on her husband, but she had been lonely and desperate for attention. For months, once she had accepted the fact that her boys' hair would serve as a constant reminder of her shame, she had been filled with guilt. She loved her husband; she never once doubted that he was the man for her. But the longer he kept her locked up in that attic, the more business adventures he took on in an attempt to fill some unquenchable void inside of himself, the more smug she felt every time she put a hat on a blonde toddler's head or brushed the delicate locks after bath time. Rebecca assumed her husband would eventually comment on the fact that the two of them, both luscious brunettes, had produced blonde twins, but no. He was too self-absorbed to ever comment on that fact. Again, Rebecca felt a swell in her chest that felt a lot like legitimacy. She was right to leave. She didn't deserve to be treated this way.

Jesse had taken the boys to one of his dozens of businesses for the afternoon. The radio station or band practice or the Smash Club or his skate park for the elderly. Rebecca couldn't even remember. It didn't matter. She would be gone before they got back. With her suitcase pulled behind her, Becky took one last glimpse at the shack of an attic she was leaving behind. There was a basket of decorative Easter eggs taking up almost the entirety of their absurdly small kitchen table. Maybe the boys wouldn't even notice that she wasn't there for Easter. They certainly had enough relatives to keep them occupied. Rebecca remembered her first April holiday with Jesse. The light blue dress had complimented her so nicely and she had been so excited to wear it to the family dinner. By the time she had climbed through the bowels of the house to arrive at the kitchen, Danny had apologetically told her that Jesse had an emergency at the club. By the time he had climbed up to her in their attic clubhouse, the dress was hanging back in her pathetic excuse of a closet, never to see the light again.

She swore to herself that she would never again walk up four flights of goddamn stairs in a townhouse that, from the outside, didn't appear to have an attic at all.

Making it to the living room, Rebecca looked at the house that had given her years of happiness and too many family members to count. She was grateful for this family but it was time to move on. She had outgrown this life. Walking through the kitchen, Becky ran her hand along the aggressively clean counter, missing the way a slight layer of dust used to feel. The thought of having her own kitchen, in which she could spill without judgment, warmed her heart. She looked at the fridge, covered in Easter drawings from the multitude of children that frequented the house. Yes. Time to leave; time for some space. There was no need to live like Ms. Hannigan, in a house that was as clean as the top of the Crysler Building, when she was a vibrant woman in her thirties who should be allowed to live in a home where she could stand up straight in her closet.

The back door swung open with vigor as DJ, her oldest niece, came in, dragging a tired, chubby Comet behind her.

"Aunt Becky! Hey! I assumed you would be with the boys." DJ breezed past Becky, opening the bunny decorated fridge door to pull out some juice.

"No … I ...," Becky breathed in deeply. "DJ, I'm leaving."

"Oh! To go meet the boys? Would you mind," DJ began.

"DJ. Stop." Becky held up her hands. "I'm _leaving_."

Her niece stared at her, blinking as she tried to understand what Becky was telling her. Becky watched as DJ's eyes traveled from Becky to her suitcase and then back again.

"Aunt Becky, no. You can't. Uncle Jesse loves you so much. We all do! You were the one who taught me how not to look like a prostitute working on her night degree when I started high school. You're the one who … who … well, maybe that's all you did. But it meant a lot! You can't leave now!"

"Don't you see DJ, that's just it? I've been living off of the memories that were built on the foundation of this family years ago. A family isn't supposed to work like this. Life works linearly – I have to keep moving forward. I'm so sorry that you had to find out this way. But please, don't tell the family you saw me. I want to be able to talk to Jesse when I've got a better idea of what I want." Becky's tone was defeated. She was so exhausted. Trying to sneak out of a house that had a dozen people living under its roof was impossible.

DJ looked stunned. Families were not supposed to fall apart. At least, hers wasn't. "Okay, okay. I promise."

"Like, a real promise. Not a promise that you make to Stephanie that you immediately break. Or a promise you make to Michelle that you immediately break. Or a promise you make to …"

"I get it! A legitimate promise. Where I actually don't tell another person."

"Thank you, DJ. This means so much to me."

DJ looked at the life in Aunt Becky's eyes. She hadn't seen that kind of enthusiasm since before they moved Becky into this youth center they called their home.

"Becky – can I come with you?"

Becky's hands fumbled as she tried to reach for her suitcase. "What?"

"I'm twenty-eight years old. Please. I need to go with you. Yes. This feels right. I can help you pay rent and actually get a job. Please let me come with you."

A feeling of ice ran through Becky's veins. "DJ," she spat the words out through gritted teeth. "This is exactly what I am talking about, woman. If you want to live somewhere different because you are almost thirty and you share a bedroom with two sisters, one of whom is married, move out. You don't need a family member to help you do it. Make a choice. Stick with it. And grow up. By yourself."

The two women stared at each other for a silent moment before DJ hugged Becky softly and left the house again. Maybe Becky had gotten through to DJ. Maybe there would soon be two less grown ass women living under Danny Tanner's roof.

Finally ready to make her departure, Becky grabbed a notepad from a drawer and fumbled through her purse for a pen. The words were blurry on the page as Becky squinted through her tears. She hoped her husband would understand what she meant by these words – to not be afraid. Rebecca hoped that this familiar phrase in her familiar handwriting would serve as a form of encouragement and comfort for Jesse. He could handle this life on his own. She trusted him to take good care of their sons while she settled into a new home by herself.

With a final deep breath, Rebecca inhaled too much Lemon Pledge and walked towards the back door. She grabbed a Cadbury egg from the bowl on the table. Holding the chocolate in her hand, she smiled. Rebecca had escaped her tower.

The note on the counter kept a napping Comet company.

"You got it, dude."


End file.
